A new producer, Per Blankens - who handled the Swedish version of the show - was brought in, and the judges table was reshuffled for what seemed like the umpteenth time since Simon Cowell's departure for the sorry-ass X Factor.

Jennifer Lopez, armed with a tube of Barbie-pink lipstick, returned to join dependable Keith Urban. And then the show's producers made an interesting choice by hiring Harry Connick Jr. as the third judge. Classically trained - he performed Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 3 Opus 37 with the New Orleans Symphony Orchestra when he was nine years old - he has also written soundtrack albums for big Hollywood movies (When Harry Met Sally), won a Grammy for Best Jazz Male Vocal and starred in a Broadway musical (The Pyjama Game).

Harry Connick Jr.

And, like Lopez, Connick has had a side career as an actor (Will & Grace, Independence Day).

He has worked with Idol twice before, as a mentor to the finalists, in 2010 and 2013. That's a very different job than sitting on the judges' panel and touring the country during the often tedious audition process. Connick's doing that now and he has been given the nickname "Hatchet Harry," probably because on this show someone has to be the villain - and there's no point in competing with Lopez's Miss Congeniality routine.

But Connick is no Cowell - and that's a good thing. A television villain of Dickensian proportions, Cowell relished his ability to devour contestants whole and flash a smile at the cameras, fangs still dripping. Connick comes across as smart and articulate, offering pointers that may sink in, even if they seem to be coming from a guy old enough - at 46, he's the eldest judge - to be a father to the majority of contestants, who probably don't know his music or the extent of his accomplishments.

During the Detroit auditions, he advised Brandi, a fitness-centre receptionist, to train her voice to get rid of the guttural tone that was affecting her delivery. "For what it's worth, I would correct it," he said. When the performance is not working, he makes a face and cuts to the chase. He told one performer in Detroit, "I don't think singing is for you" and another - the unfortunately named Symphony Howlett - "You're aware that vocal is incredibly annoying and distracting." But when he likes what he hears, he does not hold back. He fairly gushed over the promising R&B singer Ayla Stackhouse: "There was some star potential going on. That was a smart audition."

To his credit, Connick doesn't try to be one of the kids, openly acknowledging that he has three children, one of whom, Charlotte, might wear the same sparkly purple lipstick as a contestant in the Atlanta audition. When he teases the performers, it's affectionate. Ryan Nisbett showed up at the Detroit audition with a hilarious pompadour and a "one-of-a-kind" voice. Said Connick, after the judges voted to send him to Hollywood week: "I want you to know you are personally responsible for that hole in the ozone [layer]."

It's not Connick's job to save American Idol. Network execs who still think the show can reclaim its ratings glory are delusional; the show is, after all, 13 years old. What Connick can do is give Idol some class, by reminding viewers that the show is about the music, not about seeing who can be the most belligerent "adult."

Connick will probably be more particular once we get to Hollywood week, and it will be interesting to see him try to get the last word with Lopez. He's already given her a tutorial on the pentatonic scale - commonly used in R&B songs - to which she replied, giggling (of course), "You know too damn much."

If Harry Connick Jr.'s biggest problem is that he knows too damn much, we're not complaining. If, in the end, the voters choose the cutest contestant over the best singer - the show's longstanding problem - what he can do about it?

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